


Touching

by Navyblueyoucallmesexy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Grace, Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Mark of Cain, canon ish
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-20 00:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5986255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Navyblueyoucallmesexy/pseuds/Navyblueyoucallmesexy





	1. Chapter 1

He growled, the sound drowned out by the pounding of his heart and that fucking song. _But I see your true colors._ Fury pooling in his gut. _Shining through_. Breathe. _I see your true colors_. In and out. _And that's why I love you_. Heat seared through his forearm as he clutched. _So don't be afraid_. The wrong knife. _To let them show._ Fire forced power into his muscles. _Your true colors_. Searching for a reason. _True colors, are beautiful._ Fingers twitching, he lunged forward and tackled Crowley to the ground.

"Dean.”

Crowley’s face was inches from Deans, genuine fear hidden behind the surface of a leering smile. One swift movement. His arms and hands were jittering with energy. He wanted to lash out and break someone. Preferably a big-mouthed douche-bag king of hell. One jolt through that goddamn son-of-a-bitch and Dean would never have to watch that weak grin mumble sarcastic replies ever again. That stupid pathetic-

“Dean that’s enough.”

-dick. He started this. He created this monster, it was only right that he was destroyed by it. “Stop.” A hand on Dean’s shoulder gripped him tightly. “Fight it.” Cas pulled him out of the darkness slowly- no -dragged him, painfully. He couldn’t breathe without shaking. Dean clenched his muscles and closed his eyes, willing Crowley to fuck off back to hell. Standing to his feet, Dean shuddered. The blade glittered in the dull light as his arm shook.

_“..And that’s why I love you, so don’t be afraid,”_

“Would you turn that shit off?” Dean muttered through tight lips, eyes still shut. The empty bar fell silent.

Counting to ten (around forty times) and breathing deeply, Dean opened his eyes. Crowley was still crumpled on the ground, his suit out of place and the same weak smile plastered across his face. “Feeling better?” He spat.

Dean lost it again. He spun the knife in his hand and stepped forward, intent on burying it between his ribs when Cas' hand wrapped around his wrist.

It was cool, like cold water on a burn, and it stilled the tremble in his arm. The soothing cold travelled up his arm through his chest, forcing him to release a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “If you value your existence, Crowley, I suggest you stay quiet.” Cas threatened in his usual gruff tone. Regaining the ability to think clearly, Dean wondered if Cas was using his dwindling grace to sooth Dean. He shook himself free of Cas' hold.

Crowley barely blinked. “What? I was just being friendly.” He chewed, words dripping with sarcasm. Both Dean and Cas stepped forward with narrowed eyes and stretched patience. “Fine. I’ll leave.” He barked, rolling his eyes and dusting off his trousers as he stood. “But really boys, next time don’t expect me to be so amicable.”

His false confidence was raking on Deans already frayed nerves and it was all becoming too much. The lights were too bright, the stench of stale beer and dust overwhelming. Dean swayed on his feet. Crowley sauntered out of the bar and Deans knife clattered to the floor, followed by his knees. His head hit his hands as the stress left his body. The exhaustion consumed him and his chest heaved. Panic over. The darkness hadn’t destroyed him, but he was left in tatters. Miserable tatters that wanted nothing more than to give in. All he could do was hold himself together and try not to fall apart. He stared at the sensible old shoes in front of him and grit his teeth. He wouldn’t fall to pieces in front of Cas. He wouldn’t.

For the hundredth time, Cas spoke Deans name. He didn’t reply. The old warps and knots in the wooden floor became incredibly fascinating all of a sudden. “Dean, we should leave.” Dark warbled patches interrupted the grain of the wood like small black holes. “Sam will be worried.” It’d be great if one of those warbled knots would open up an swallow him whole. It’d be easier than trying to compose himself in front of Cas.

As it turns out, Castiel angel-of-the-lord didn’t give him a chance. He crouched down in front of Dean and lifted his chin with two fingers, forcing him to meet those intensely blue eyes. Those beautiful, honest to a fault blues.

“Dean Winchester. We are leaving now, whether I have to carry you or not.” Carry him? The thought should have made Dean scoff but he only just managed to bury a sob, Cas becoming blurry as his face twitched and contorted to hold back tears. The sentiment behind Cas' words was beyond what Dean could comprehend, his thoughts disjointed and unsure. His body was frozen no matter how Cas' warm eyes attempted to thaw him, just the small wracking of his breathing tearing through his lungs. Time stretched impossibly long as he stared at Cas. Thoughts whizzed around inside his head.

Cas sighed after a short eternity. “Carry you it is.” He mumbled, positioning himself as if to scoop Dean into a cradle carry.

"-No!” Dean called out quickly, almost falling sideways in his attempt to move away from Cas without falling to pieces on the bar floor. “I’m good.” He said quietly, forcibly pushing down his emotions.

Dean clutched his stomach and hauled himself to his unsteady feet. Cas stood close, looking prepared to catch him if he collapsed. Dean gave him an exasperated look. He wasn’t a child.

Cas dropped his hands to his sides and mumbled, “Sorry.”

-and now Dean felt like a total dick. He intended to say something along the lines of ‘Shit, sorry I’m such an asshat Cas.’ but what actually came out more like “Fucks sake.” all raspy and harsh. He was probably swearing at his own shitty attitude, but old blue eyes took it personally and nervously shuffled away.

Sighing, Dean held one arm out, keeping the other around his stomach. “Cas?” A small smile twitched across Cas' face as he stepped closer than before and slipped under, so Deans arm rested across his shoulders.

Leaning on Cas for moral support more than anything, Dean hobbled out of the door and towards the Impala which sat lonely in the carpark. As Cas began to guide Dean to the passengers side, he pushed away from him and leant against the car. “No. No freaking way are you driving Baby.”

"Dean you are in no state to drive.” Cas scolded, steering him yards the passenger seat again, ineffectively. “I have plenty of driving experience, you needn’t be worried.”

Dean snorted. He could be the fucking Stig and Dean still wouldn’t let him behind the wheel. "I’m fine, Cas. Perfectly fine to drive.” He complained, “I’m not even hurt. Once I drove three miles with a piece of glass stuck in my foot. Put me in the drivers seat.” Reluctantly, Cas helped him to the other side. There was no point arguing with the older Winchester, he’d always win.

It was awkward with Cas fumbling around him, maneuvering him into position. Especially since he didn’t even need any help. He certainly didn’t need Cas to buckle his seatbelt but Dean was too tired to put up any real fight.

When Dean was seated (and buckled), he looked up at Cas who was stood in the way of the door. Halfway through mumbling “Scooch.” the angel disappeared and reappeared on Deans right. Rolling his eyes, Dean slammed the car door shut and brought the engine to life.


	2. Chapter 2

It was around half an hour into the drive when Dean pulled over with a thump to the steering wheel. Twice he’d stalled, three times he glided over into the wrong side of the road and he’d almost fallen asleep more times than he could count. If it weren’t for Cas' quick rescues, he’d probably be out for the count right now. Which is why, as pissed as Dean felt, he had to hand it to Cas. “Take the wheel, Cas.”

“Are you sure?” Cas asked. It was kind of him to pretend that he even had a choice.

Dean sighed. “Yeah.” In an uncomfortable jolt, Dean found himself in the passenger seat, he and Cas having changed places. “Dammit, just keep the mojo to a minimum Cas.” He complained, gripping his stomach as the usual post-angelic-flight heave passed through his body _. Not in Baby. I will not barf in Baby._

Cas apologized as he pulled back out onto the road, muttering small assurances that didn’t do much for Dean. “We aren’t far now Dean. I will inform Sam when we arrive and you can rest, heal.”

“’Kay.” Dean yawned, leaning his head against the soft tremble of the impala as he watched streetlights flash past. He wanted to say thanks but the purr of the engine was comforting and so very home, that within minutes Dean was snoring.

 

 

 

“Just wake him up.”

The voice was muffled and quiet, but nearby and as he heard it- _Sam, it was Sam_ \- light bled through his eyelids. The more Dean squeezed his eyes shut and told it to piss off, the more light flooded his skull.

“He needs rest.” Cas was right. Someone needed to turn out that damn light and let him bomb for a few days.

Dean gave in and opened his eyes just a squint. He was still in the impala with his face smushed against the car door and it was light outside, an early morning grey sky. “He needs a bed.” Sam argued, stood with Cas by the passenger door. “I’ve slept in that car enough times to know we’d be doing him a favour by waking him up. He’ll feel worse later if we-“ Sam’s voice slowly faded as he made eye contact with Dean.

In the awkward moment where Sam sheepishly apologized, Cas turned and tilted his head. “Dean. You should be resting.”

“I was until Bitchface and Featherbrains started shouting about me.” Dean muttered, opening Baby’s door and throwing a foot out on to the concrete. His body felt like it was full of lead, his head hanging, shoulders slumped. All his energy was focused on keeping his eyes open.

“Jerk.” Sam mumbled, “You don’t look too good Dean.” No kidding, he probably looked at shit as he felt. The nap didn’t seem to have helped at all. “Cas told me about-“

“Crowley, yeah.” Dean interrupted, not wanting to hear the whole thing again. “King of hell is a douche, end of.”

Sam nodded, his hair swaying with the movement. He really needed a haircut. “Okay. Well we need to get you into bed.” _Hell yes,_ Dean thought before quickly changing his mind as Sam advanced on him. “What? I was just about to help you up.” Sam said confused as Dean retrieved his arm from around Sams shoulder.

“I don’t need any help, m'good.” Dean explained, bracing his hands on the leather interior of the impala and working up the energy to push himself to standing. With a “Humph” of air and concerned stares from a large brother and a grumpy angel, he was stood leaning against Baby’s roof. “See, m’fine.” Dean mumbled.

Sam and Cas exchanged looks of disbelief. “Sure.” Sam replied, eyeing Dean as he swayed slightly to the left. Feeling the ground on the left hand side steadily becoming closer, Dean put him arm out to stop himself falling. The angle made his head spin and suddenly Dean was concerned whether he would be able to make it to the motel room without kissing the pavement. That is if he could even stand without leaning on the car. Shit, Sam was right, he wasn’t okay.

He sighed and rubbed his face with his palms. “I’m gonna regret this but.. Cas, could you poof me into the room? Please?” The look on their faces made Dean want to fall face first into the dirt fall asleep right there. How could two grown ass middle aged men look so damn apathetic? They looked like poster boys for the Samaritans.

"Of course.” Cas smiled sadly (sympathetic dick), his usually gruff tone softened. Dean blacked out for a fraction of a second when Cas' fingers touched his shoulder. When he came to he was stood with the angel as he carefully lowered Dean into the bed, bile rising in his throat. Angel magic was freaking weird, but at least he was in bed now. The cheap scratchy motel covers were a god send. “Rest, Dean.” Cas murmured, his fingers reaching out to Deans forehead.

Even in his exhausted state the hunter knew that wasn’t a good sign. “Whoa- wait- slow down.” Dean said, his eyes snapping open as he pushed Cas' hand away. “Don’t need any more of that.. That..” Dean struggled to find his words, his brain fogging up and screaming SLEEP.

Cas sighed pressed his fingers to Deans face regardless and if Dean could have, he would have knocked him straight in the jaw. The dark haired angel let his hand drop by his side. Deans vision was going hazy, but he felt the cool of Cas' grace spread through his body. The last thing Dean thought before sleep took over him entirely was- _the mark. The mark wasn’t burning._


	3. Chapter 3

Dean Winchester was the worst person to fall for. If he wasn’t risking his life to save people, he was afflicted with one kind of curse of another and dead or dying. Admittedly Castiel was part of the reason that Dean was always in trouble, but he tried not to think about that. He devoted himself to the Winchesters a long time ago as penance, but, well it was no longer a punishment.

Stood beside Deans bed, Castiel watched him sleep. Angels watch over you. It was Mary Winchester’s statement, but it seemed appropriate while Dean slept. 

The small wrinkles around Deans eyes and mouth smoothed out while he was asleep, as if all the stress had slid off his face. He didn’t look younger or softer, he just looked like himself only slightly more slack jawed. It was endearing. Castiel smiled softly, wondering when he became a ‘soft smile' kind of person.

Reaching down, Castiel considered touching Dean. It was something he had been longing for a considerable amount of time. Not just the grip of a dying man or the quick transference of grace, but long, lingering caresses and meaningful-

“Is he okay?” 

Sam Winchester was stood by the door looking worried, as he usually did when he spoke to Castiel. Castiel only jumped a little. “He is asleep.”

A tight lipped smile and raised eyebrows told Castiel that this perhaps was not the answer Sam wanted. “I can see that.” He replied, glancing at Dean, “I meant the mark. You said he got worse.”

Castiel stared at Deans forearm, the mark hidden on the underside of his arm. “He hasn’t mentioned it since Crowley left, but he was.. Out of hand, Sam. I’m not Crowley’s biggest fan of course, but he didn’t do anything to provoke Dean. Aside from the usual jibes and general comments.” Castiel dropped his head. Yes, Dean had been irritable and easily annoyed at the moment. However it was an entirely new development for him to attack Crowley without the blade or reason.

Sam knew that too. “What do we do?” 

“We let him heal.”

“I didn’t meant right now-“

“-I know what you meant. But Dean needs to be back up and running before we do anything.” Sam seemed to chew over Castiel words for a while before nodding. Castiel decided to keep an eye on him. The Winchesters had a long history of lying and hiding secrets from each other. 

Sam didn’t stay long after that. He left with the intention of researching, but Castiel heard him fall into bed soon after in a motel room further down.

 

In all honesty, Castiel had no reason to stay. 

Several hours later, Castiel was still stood in the same spot, head tilted downwards keeping track of every twitch, spasm and flicker of eyelashes. Dean stirred in the early hours of the next day, a frown creasing his forehead.  
“Sam.” He groaned, his left hand gripping his right arm and rubbing it harshly, pushing the sleeve up and scratching, hard, all without opening his eyes. “Sammy. I can’t- agh! Cas. I didn’t mean to. Please.”

Castiel looked frantically from the mark to Deans face contorted face. He quickly leant down onto the bed and held Deans arms down, the scratching already drawing blood. “Dean. Calm down.” It didn’t help and soon his groaning grew into screams of pain and tears threatened to touch Castiel. He pressed his forehead against the hunters chest and willed the pain to leave. Grace flowed from Castiel hands gently and, much too slowly, Dean quietened.

Sam burst into the room with his gun in hand “Dean! What is it? What’s happening Cas, is he..?” He panted.

It was difficult to keep his face stoic and emotionless, but at important times Castiel deemed it necessary. Someone had to remain calm, especially with Dean. “He’s relaxing now.” Castiel explained, lifting his head and letting go of Deans wrists. As he moved back however, Dean reached out and snagged Castiel hand by the ring finger. The gesture did something interesting to Castiel insides. “I think.. I think my grace helped.” He stuttered, watching Deans groans turn to whispers.

Sam lowered his weapon and stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him. “Thank you.” He mumbled, walking over to Deans bedside and taking note of his condition as well as eyeing up their joined hands. “The mark?”

It was a dark red, caused by Deans scratching or not, and bleeding. Long vertical scratches trickled steadily down to the hand that held Cas' own.  
“Not good.”

Dean was waking up slowly, his eyes blinking open and glaring at the two present in his room . “Wha’s not good?” Dean followed Sams gaze to the red mess that was his forearm. “Right, ah, I must have..” He mumbled, tugging down his sleeve as he attempted to sit up. 

“Yeah. You ah, yeah.” Sam replied, rubbing his jaw and averting his eyes. 

“Right. ‘Kay.” 

The Winchesters were not known for their conversationalist skills, but even by their standards this was hard to listen to.

“Dean, its getting worse. We really need to find a solution or at least something to prolong the-“

“He won’t listen, Cas.” Sam interrupted, his arms folded across his chest. Helpful Sam.

“-So you’re giving up too?” Castiel stepped towards Sam, almost threateningly. “Since when do Winchesters give up? I never gave up on you because I know you never give up on your own. I know that one little burning mark-“

“Cas?” Dean was frowning, holding his arm tightly. Castiel was too focused on Sam, leaning over the motel bed with anger brewing under his skin.

“-won’t stop you. You’ve both survived hell. One tiny curse-“

“Cas, shut up. Its not burning. I can’t feel it.” Dean blurted, Cas stopping in his tracks, his head whipping to Deans face. 

Sams eyebrows knit together. “Really?”

“Really.” Dean grinned, kind of surprised himself.

The mark of Cain had been burning a hole in Deans arm for months, a permanent scolding brand that had Dean scratching absent mindedly and breaking out into a sweat at nothing. Surely it couldn’t just.. Not burn? Especially after an episode like the one they witnessed less than an hour ago. Maybe this was a new stage? Perhaps Dean was becoming numb. Sam didn’t seem nearly as concerned as Castiel, smiling and inspecting Deans arm with a new excitement. “This is great! D'you think someone has found a cure? Maybe we did something that helped. Think Dean, did you eat anything weird, touch something in the trunk?” Sam babbled, carefully wiping the blood from Deans arm. It certainly didn’t look any different. 

Dean took his arm from Sam and shook his had slightly, “Its not cured, I can still sense it.” Sam’s face visibly dropped, but Dean continued. “Its like its behind a wall, too far away for it to get me. It kinda feels numb.” Castiel didn’t find any pleasure in knowing he was right. “I felt like this last night too, when Cas touched me.”

There weren’t many people in the world who could surprise Castiel, the list included his ever so absent Father and big brother Gabriel. It made sense that Dean Winchester would be added to that list. 

“When I touched you?” Castiel asked, his voice strained and confused.

Thankfully, Dean ignored his reaction. “Yeah, when you mojoed me to sleep last night. Consent by the way, s’important. Wait- it was the same feeling when you held be back from Crowley too.” Sam’s eyes widened and looked up to Castiel from where he was perched beside Dean. 

“Grace. Its your grace, Cas. Your grace is healing Dean.”


End file.
